


Sons and Lovers

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Series: Sons and Lovers Continuity [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By late 1919, Thomas Barrow's and Edward Courtenay's lives are finally on a relatively even keel, but will it last?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Edward lives, of course. This works in the same AU continuity as The Survivors, September 1918, and some of my short pieces and drabbles. Needless to say, the title is borrowed from D. H. Lawrence's novel Sons and Lovers.

By the autumn of 1919, Thomas Barrow thought life had finally taken a turn for the better. He’d survived the war and run off with a man he loved. What more could he want? And Edward was doing much better, too. He had his bleak moments, but he’d learned to confide more and more in Thomas, and Thomas knew he saw a change in him. After all, Edward was not yet out of mourning for his brother and was still learning to manage the estate without being able to see, yet he’d come such a long way.

There were, of course, some days in this new life that scared Thomas. Sometimes Edward seemed almost as unhappy as he had been in the hospital and then in the convalescent home after that. Sometimes his frustration made him short with the tenants or the staff or even his mother, a fragile, middle-aged woman who hadn’t the slightest idea how to help her son. Then when Edward and Thomas were alone together, Thomas would hear the pain and guilt in his voice, and take his hand to console him.

They never had enough chances to be alone, either. They were _together_ plenty: Thomas had gone home with Edward as his valet as well as his lover, but they didn’t get as many private moments for the latter as they would have liked. The Courtenay family kept a large staff, considering there were only two of them left. Whenever Thomas was annoyed with one of the other servants or the lack of privacy in the house, he was inclined to think especially poorly of Mrs. Courtenay. The way he saw it, the woman just couldn’t understand that the war had come along and changed things as much as it had.

Then again, he and Edward couldn’t manage everything themselves. Thomas didn’t begrudge Edward the assistance of Parker, the estate manager, or Mr. Davis, the quiet old butler who’d served the family since Edward was a boy. And Mrs. Courtenay was precious little use to anyone. She had a notion in her head that Edward should marry her friend Lady Radley’s daughter, and doted on Edward when she wasn’t too busy grieving her younger and favourite son to leave her room. (She _was_ a little like Edward. Thomas didn’t like to admit it, but they resembled each other in more than just looks.) Yet even when it came to socializing and matchmaking, Mrs. Courtenay was inept and indecisive. Her maid, Lizzy Fielding, didn’t strike Thomas as terribly clever either, yet she wielded considerable influence in the house, and acted more like a lady’s companion to Mrs. Courtenay than a lady’s maid.

“I’m so glad Lady Radley and her daughter enjoyed themselves the last time they were here,” Mrs. Courtenay said one day in autumn, over luncheon. Thomas gritted his teeth. Her matchmaking always grated on him, and so he would stare down at the floor where he stood behind Edward’s chair doing his best to look impassive, not to attract her notice. She didn’t like Thomas: Thomas could see the tension in her face when she saw him with Edward, sometimes.

Thomas reminded himself that Mrs. Courtenay was not really a threat to him. He nearly scoffed, in fact. He knew she had hardly been able to order flowers or suggest a menu for the Radleys without Miss Fielding’s input, which made both the housekeeper and the cook roll their eyes downstairs.

Edward, of course, was too polite to say anything.

“Lady Radley’s invited us to stay with her next Thursday, and perhaps through the weekend,” Mrs. Courtenay went on. Thomas watched Edward fidget and tensed. The woman didn’t seem to notice. “I’d like you to come with me. Angela Radley’s a charming girl.”

Thomas knew nothing would come of it.

_“I couldn’t do that to you,”_ Edward had told him once. “And I couldn’t lie to any girl like that, either, so you’ve nothing to fear.” Then he had smiled that sad smile. “Besides, what girl would want me now?”

Thomas had gripped his shoulder. He knew for a fact that Angela Radley did fancy Edward, and Thomas – well. Thomas adored Edward and would do anything for him.

“You’re doing so well,” he’d said. “And anyway, there’s hardly a man our age in Europe who’s not maimed in some way. I’m happy to keep you to myself – but you shouldn’t say things like that, either.”

And Edward had nodded, eventually. He _almost_ believed Thomas.

“Mother,” Edward replied on that autumn day, absently playing with the corner of his napkin, “nothing will come of me and Miss Radley. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m sure she wouldn’t want the burden of looking after me for the rest of our lives.”

Thomas frowned. He hated when Edward talked like that, and watched Edward’s mother out of the corner of his eye. Her brow was furrowed in an expression of concern: she never did know what to say when Edward brought up his blindness or his experiences in France.

“She lost her brother in the war,” Mrs. Courtenay answered after a moment. “And she’s a kind, understanding young lady. Besides, nearly every young man in the country has been injured in some way or lost something. You shouldn’t say things like that.”

Thomas tilted his head lower, hoping she wouldn’t notice his half-smile and quite sure that she wouldn’t. Perhaps he didn’t give her enough credit. That was a sensible thing to say – the most sensible thing he’d ever heard out of her.

Edward sighed. “I’m sorry, Mother. I know that.”

The woman beamed. “Then will you come with me?”

Edward bit his lip, then shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t feel up to it – and anyway I’ve an appointment with Parker Friday morning.”

His mother’s face fell.

“Well, I would like to go,” she said, pouting, as if she were a small girl asking her father permission to go to a picnic.

Edward took a sip of his tea. When he put the cup down, a smile was tugging at his lips.

“You should go, Mother,” he said. “I know you’ve been very alone here and you don’t have to be. You can send my regards.”

Mrs. Courtenay dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, her thin brows knitting together in concentration once again.

“I’d rather not go alone,” she murmured.

Thomas suppressed a sigh. Edward, however, still managed to smile at his mother.

“You’d take Fielding with you, and you’d hardly be alone with the Radleys,” he suggested.

At last Mrs. Courtenay nodded.

“All right – if you’re sure you can manage.”

Thomas helped Edward back up to his room after the meal. The smile was still on Edward’s face, brightening his handsome features and making Thomas grin back at him even though he knew the look was wasted on his love.

“You handled that well,” Thomas remarked as he shut the bedroom door behind them. Then he realized how easily that line of conversation could betray his distaste for Edward’s mother, and covered his tracks. “I know I couldn’t be that patient if someone were pushing _me_ to marry a lady.”

Edward laughed.

“Well, sadly your family didn’t live to see you grown,” he said. He leaned in close to kiss Thomas, and pressed his lips against the line of Thomas’s jaw before he found his mouth.

“But I have you now,” Thomas added when they broke apart.

“Yes – and you know we’ll have a weekend to ourselves,” Edward said. For a moment he looked perfectly happy – radiant, in fact, the way Thomas always wanted to see him. Thomas kissed him again.

“We should make the most of it, then,” Thomas said.

“We will,” Edward answered.

*

Friday dawned cool and foggy, though the weather did nothing to dampen Edward’s uncharacteristic optimism and Thomas’s joy at seeing him like that. Edward had given Mr. Davis and the house maid the day off. He’d said he hardly needed so many people when he was alone in the house – and of course when he and Thomas wanted to spend far more time together than was appropriate, though they didn’t mention that part.

“Should I come with you?” Thomas asked, pouring Edward a glass of juice and helping himself to a slice of apple. (It wasn’t unusual for them to share meals in the intimacy of Edward’s room. Edward had said long ago that he and Thomas ought to be equals, at least in private. _What do distinctions of class and social niceties matter, after what we’ve been through?_ Edward had asked. _After you saved me and made me as glad to be alive as I’ll ever be…_ So Thomas was as familiar as he pleased when they were behind closed doors.)

Edward looked down. Thomas hoped his words hadn’t sounded too patronizing. A half-formed apology was on his lips when Edward spoke up.

“I suppose you should,” he said. “If I stumble or anything, I’d rather have your help than Parker’s.”

Thomas took Edward’s hand under the table.

“You’ve done so well,” he said. He meant it, too. Edward knew every inch of the grounds of his home, and he was learning to direct Thomas wherever they needed or wanted to be, even if that meant finding a particular broken down cottage or a noteworthy old oak. Sometimes he tired Thomas out during their walks.

Edward shrugged his shoulders.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Thomas leaned forward to kiss Edward.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “You’re a hundred times more knowledgeable and more on top of things than the Earl of Grantham back at Downton Abbey.” He stopped short before adding that old Lord Grantham had the advantage of perfect health and perfect eyesight, lest he hurt Edward again.

“All right,” Edward said, favouring Thomas with a small smile.

The mention of Lord Grantham and Downton jogged Thomas’s memory; there was something he’d meant to tell Edward.

“I had a letter from a friend at Downton,” Thomas said. “I thought you might like to know that Nurse Crawley’s gone off to Ireland to be married.”

“How nice,” Edward replied. “What’s the gentleman’s name?”

Thomas gave a half-laugh. “Not a gentleman – she ran off with the chauffeur, or the former chauffeur; he took a job with some paper in Dublin.”

“Oh,” Edward said. Then he, too, laughed. “You needn’t sound so concerned, Thomas – you’re not in a strong position to criticize inter-class love affairs.”

“It’s not that,” Thomas replied. “I just don’t think he’s good enough for her. I knew him a bit and, well.”

Admittedly, he hadn’t known Branson that much. He remembered a lot of hot air about politics and little more. Then again, Thomas had a rare respect for Sybil Crawley. He wasn’t sure who _would_ have been good enough for her – and he hadn’t much liked Miss O’Brien’s sneering tone in the letter he’d received the day before. It would have been all right about anyone else in that house, but not Lady Sybil.

Still, it didn’t really matter much. Thomas was a long way from Downton now.

 “I certainly wish her well,” Edward said. “I’m glad you mentioned it.”

“Of course.” The only reason Thomas hadn’t said anything earlier was because Edward had been busy seeing his mother off to the Radley estate. Thomas had chosen to make himself scarce for her dramatic goodbye – he hated the woman’s theatrics as much as he hated her efforts to marry Edward off to some suitable girl. She’d kept Miss Fielding on her toes all day with her stupid packing – _Fielding, do you think I can wear the grey satin? I don’t know if I’m supposed to be in mourning or not, in these awful days…_ Fielding had come as close to gossiping to Thomas behind her mistress’s back as she ever had. Worse, Mrs. Courtenay had set Edward on edge by nagging at him to change his mind and go with her after all. Thomas was glad he’d held firm.

“What – what time is it?” Edward asked, breaking into Thomas’s thoughts. His voice tightened; Thomas knew how uncomfortable he still felt asking for help. It was always a grim reminder that he was no longer _whole_ , or at least didn’t see himself as such.

“It’s only a quarter after,” Thomas answered. “Parker won’t be there until almost ten.”

Edward leaned back in his chair and exhaled, relaxing.

“Thanks,” he said.

They had plenty of time to finish breakfast together, and spent the rest of the day together, too. The threatening rain held off. When Edward finished his tour with Parker, he suggested to Thomas that they stay out of doors for one of their promenades round the grounds. Thomas studied his face. Edward’s brows drew together in a wistful sort of look, but his voice was steady. Thomas squeezed his arm just in case.

“’Course we can,” Thomas said. “I’m glad you asked.”

He was: he’d rather get dragged around the grounds where Edward used to be so happy than have to cajole Edward out of bed on his bad days. Thomas considered that a sign of real progress.

“Well, I – I used to love the autumn,” Edward said sadly. “I’ll never be what I was, and I’ll never be able to do half the things I enjoy – but I’ve a mind to _try_ being happy, as you’re always telling me to.”

Thomas wanted to kiss him then and there, and only resisted because he knew some of the Courtenay family’s tenants might be around. Anyway, they’d have time for that later.

*

Dinner was another quiet affair. Thomas invented one of his many excuses not to eat downstairs with the remaining staff, and waited on – really shared his meal with – Edward in the dining room. Outside the rain had begun to fall at last; it pelted the wide windows angrily. They laughed about it, relieved that the weather had held during the day. Once again Thomas beamed at Edward in pride across the table. It was so rare that he got to see him happy, optimistic.

Perhaps he should have known that something was bound to go wrong: it always did.

Edward was bolder than usual in reaching for Thomas’s hand under the table and in inviting Thomas up to his own room afterward, boyish grin on his face. It made Thomas wonder as he often did what Edward had been like in happier times before the war.

“No one will notice you spending all night with me,” Edward said as they mounted the stairs arm in arm.

Thomas grinned in answer and caressed Edward’s arm where he held him.

“No,” he said, “no one will.”

It was a little suspicious, their closeness, but with Davis and Cate the house maid gone, it hardly mattered tonight. The upstairs corridor seemed very empty indeed. Thomas looked around, and stopped walking, then pressed a quick kiss to Edward’s cheek. Thomas’s heart skipped a beat, but he didn’t regret doing it.

“That _was_ a little bold,” Edward said, laughing. His cheeks flushed in the lamplight.

Thomas beamed at him. “Well, you managed things nicely. We’ve the house almost to ourselves...”

“ _Almost_ ,” Edward replied, reaching for Thomas’s hand. “Let’s get into my room.”

He could find his own room just fine now, though Thomas didn’t let go of his hand. Once they were inside the door Edward pulled Thomas close and kissed him again, deep and open-mouthed. Thomas smiled against the other man’s lips.

“I love seeing you like this,” he whispered, touching Edward’s face with his hand. Edward kissed his fingers.

“Well,” he said, a little shy, “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I never expected to feel like this again.”

Thomas’s skin tingled where Edward held him. He could feel his blood starting to rush to his groin.

“And I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Thomas replied.

The words could have been serious, on some other day, but Thomas’s tone was light, teasing. He pressed his lips to Edward’s throat and neck in a sequence of quick kisses. Edward inhaled sharply; his hands roved down Thomas’s back.

“You’re so handsome,” Thomas murmured, unbuttoning first Edward’s jacket, then his waistcoat. Edward laughed. The sound was warm and sensual – Thomas could feel Edward’s breath against his ear – and reminded Thomas of how Edward would sometimes stifle that same laugh when he spent himself…

“We should lie down,” Edward managed between kisses. Thomas nodded, let Edward tug him backwards, and they collapsed together onto the bed. Thomas broke away from Edward just long enough to breathe and worked at unfastening Edward’s trousers. A shudder ran through Edward as Thomas brushed his fingers against his half-hard prick.

“Kiss me,” Edward commanded. He stretched his hand out toward Thomas, a little clumsy, and touched his shoulder before moving his fingers upwards to grasp Thomas’s hair.

“Oh, I will,” Thomas said. He propped himself up on his elbows and straddled Edward’s body. Their lips met. Edward bit at Thomas’s lower lip, demanding entry, and he ran his tongue over Thomas’s teeth as Thomas opened his mouth. Thomas shifted, held himself up on one arm, and unfastened his own trousers to free his aching erection. Then he began kissing his way down Edward’s jaw and chest, kissed the sharp bones of his hip – first the right side, then the left – and savoured Edward’s strangled little gasp as he took his prick into his mouth.

“Oh – _God_ ,” Edward said. His whole body tensed. Thomas took one of Edward’s hands and held it down, pressing both their hands against the soft bed. Absently, Thomas loosened the silver cuff link of Edward’s sleeve, lest it scratch his poor, dear scarred wrist.

“ _God_ ,” Edward said again as Thomas rolled his tongue over the head of his prick. _Blasphemed_ , Thomas thought, and smirked as much as he could. Edward bucked his hips –

– And Thomas heard the wooden door as it opened, but didn’t comprehend what was happening – didn’t understand why Edward tensed again, and only realized much too late that they hadn’t locked the door –

“Edward, I’m afraid I’ve had–”

Mrs. Courtenay’s voice rang out, then died.

Thomas jumped back. His heart knocked against his ribs, and his blood seemed to have turned to ice. He saw Edward’s face freeze into an expression of horror and turned around, fumbling to button his clothing, as if he could protect Edward from this crisis.

Mrs. Courtenay stood in the doorway, still clad in her dinner dress and cloak, which was damp from the rain outside. Her eyes and mouth were wide open. She was paper-white, and Thomas thought he saw her shiver in palpable fear; he thought, furiously, _She’s not the one who needs to be afraid._

Then the woman took a step backward and slammed the door shut behind her.

“We’re done for,” Edward whispered, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Aren’t we?”

Thomas took Edward’s hand and squeezed it. He hoped Edward wouldn’t hear how raggedly he was breathing.

“We’ll think of something,” Thomas said.

Edward shook his head. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Thomas knew that the hope and happiness they had worked so hard for had just shattered completely. He cursed Mrs. Courtenay.

“I can’t believe I was that stupid,” Edward said. He tried to dress, but his hands shook too much. Thomas took a deep breath, striving to control his own panic. At least his years working as a valet served him well: his hands hardly trembled at all as he buttoned his own clothes, then set about dressing Edward.

“She said – she said she’d be gone ‘til Sunday,” Thomas murmured.

Edward put his hand to his mouth.

“I suppose she took ill or something,” he snapped. “God, we were both stupid–”

“It’ll be all right,” Thomas insisted, unlikely as it was. He tried to force back the thought of prison – of perhaps seeing _Edward_ sent to prison, after everything he’d suffered. “ _Darling_ , it’ll be all right; we’ll think of something. We’ll go away somewhere or…”

Edward sighed. “Just help me dress, will you? She’ll want to speak to us and have a scene; I know she will.”

But Thomas didn’t have a chance to finish dressing Edward. It seemed only a couple minutes passed before Mrs. Courtenay opened the door again. She’d given Thomas just enough time to make himself presentable.

“Barrow, I will speak to you in the study,” she said, in the sternest voice he’d ever heard her use.

Edward swung his legs off the bed and turned his head toward the sound of her voice.

“Mother, I should be there–”

For the first time since Thomas had been here, Mrs. Courtenay did not hesitate.

“I only need Barrow for now.”

She uttered his name as if it were a curse word. Thomas bit his lip, looking at Edward, then at his mother. They were both wide-eyed and grey-face. He touched Edward’s hand again, ignoring the way Mrs. Courtenay flinched.

“I’ll go,” he murmured. “ _Sir_ – mum.”

He bowed his head in Mrs. Courtenay’s direction, though it was rather late to start acting like a servant. Edward sighed again. He looked so hurt that they couldn’t even face their fate together.

Thomas rose on unsteady legs and followed Mrs. Courtenay out of the room. He felt as if he were already going to hear a prison sentence, yet he squared his shoulders and told himself that he was not afraid.

The study she had mentioned was at the base of the front stairs. It locked from the inside; Thomas knew she must have the key easily to hand because she’d been cleaning out some of her late husband’s papers in there. It was a good place to have a scene over something damning.

Thomas made to follow the woman down the front stairs he’d grown used to using. She turned on her heel at the landing, glaring up at him. Thomas stopped.

“Shall I go round to the back one?” he asked – not that anything was likely to curry favour for him now.

Mrs. Courtenay narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t waste the time,” she snapped. “But this is–” She stopped herself, pursing her lips. “I will speak to you in private – though I suppose you convinced Edward to give all the staff the day off.”

_Just Mr. Davis and Cate_ , Thomas thought. _Though Davis is probably back by now. I didn’t hear him come in; I’ve had other things to worry about._ He didn’t know how he could think so wryly about anything, when his whole body was chilled to the bone, and when the happiest time of his life was crashing down around him.

He followed Mrs. Courtenay into the study and let her lock the door, rather surprised by how controlled she was, when he would have expected hysterics. He supposed the worst was coming.

“I – Um–” Mrs. Courtenay started to speak as she turned to face Thomas. He kept his head down, respectful. Mrs. Courtenay’s slight frame was rigid against the door.

“I’ve tolerated so much from you,” she began again. “I’ve let you use the front stairs as if you were a guest in this house, and take a thousand other liberties, all because I thought you were helping Edward – but I see that I’ve been played for a fool.”

Thomas licked his dry lips.

“I have been helping Mr. Courtenay,” he said.

The woman flushed with anger.

“You will wait until _I_ have spoken,” she said. “I’m not asking you to make any defence; I’m not a court of law, even if you’re trying hard to land Edward in one.” She trembled when she spoke Edward’s name, and had to look down, hunching her shaking shoulders, as Edward sometimes did when he was particularly anxious. Thomas shut his eyes. When he opened them again Mrs. Courtenay had drawn herself back up to her full, though still small, height.

“As for what you said just now – and what I _saw_ – the only explanation I can believe–” She shrugged, shook her head. Her hair was beginning to come loose from its tidy, fashionable style. “Or, really, the only explanation I can allow is that you’ve been a bad and corrupting influence on my son, and you’ve taken advantage of him and his troubles.”

For a split second Thomas wanted to agree. He could say that this was all his own fault – that he had taken advantage and acted outrageously, when Edward had wanted no part in his advances. That might, at least, spare Edward further suffering – yet he couldn’t get sacked and separated from Edward, either. They’d hushed up Edward’s failed suicide attempt very carefully, which meant Thomas alone knew how dire his need had been and could be again. He couldn’t leave…

He tried to compromise. Her tone was gentle, like Edward’s always was. They were, after all, mother and son, and not altogether dissimilar. Perhaps she could be bargained with.

“Mrs. Courtenay, I swear I will never touch him in any – inappropriate way again, if you would only let me stay on.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say (though there weren’t many good options in his position). Mrs. Courtenay set her mouth into a grim line.

“How dare you,” she said. “I can’t possibly trust you, after what I saw tonight – after you involved Edward in what is a criminal offense. It’s out of the question.”

Thomas looked down at the floor. He told himself he wasn’t afraid – not even now – only he thought that meeting her eyes would make things worse, and besides, he needed to _think_.

But he’d already roused her to worse anger. When Mrs. Courtenay spoke next, she had lost whatever composure, whatever _noblesse oblige_ she’d managed until now.

“You’ll leave my house tonight,” she went on. Her voice shook. “I don’t care if you’ve nowhere to go – you’re–” She stopped short. This time, Thomas did look up, though his face burned with anger.

“I don’t know how I even have the courage to be in the same room with you,” Mrs. Courtenay said, her thin chest heaving, “with a fiend who would do what you tried. I’d call the police this minute but for the fact that my son’s name would be dragged into the scandal, so you can count yourself lucky in that respect.”

This time, the mention of Edward made Thomas grow even colder, as dread settled into the pit of his stomach. The stupid woman didn’t realize that the shame and guilt and friendlessness could be a matter of life or death for the son she claimed to love. _You don’t know him like I do_ , Thomas thought. _You don’t know what he’s been through_.

He clenched his hand in his pocket, but controlled his voice with an effort.

“Look, I know it seems really wrong, but I’ve only ever been fond of – of Mr. Courtenay, and–”

The woman went pale with rage.

“How dare you speak to me of your filthy and corrupt designs on _my son_ ,” she said, in a choked whisper. Then she cleared her throat. “You will leave my house this instant, and I’ll see to it that you never work anywhere respectable again.”

Thomas fought back a wave of panic that nearly made his knees buckle. _Stupid bitch – can’t you see that he_ needs _me?_ But saying so would hardly help him, would it? It wouldn’t make any difference with her or with most people…

Thomas – who was so seldom lost for words – stood by the fire, silent and fidgeting like a guilty child. _Edward needs me_ , he thought again.

At last he found his voice.

“You may not believe me,” he began, “but I do care for him, and if any harm came to him –”

“You think I would harm my own child?” Mrs. Courtenay returned coldly. “You can’t know much about decent family life, can you? It’s to protect him from harm that I’m –”

But the sound of fumbling at the door interrupted her. She turned around, her words dying on her lips, as Thomas’s heart seemed to jump to his throat.

“Mother,” Edward’s voice said, though it was muffled by the door, “Mother, I had better be part of this conversation, don’t you think?”

Thomas watched the woman’s reaction. She raised her thin hand to her mouth to bite at a fingernail, much as Edward himself did in times of stress.

“I think it’s best if I say my peace without you,” she called. But she spoke in quite a different tone than she had a moment ago.

“What have I said about shunting me aside in matters that concern me?” Edward asked, his voice rising. “Must I call Mrs. Teague to get the spare key?”

A shudder ran through Mrs. Courtenay’s body. _That’s right_ , Thomas thought. She would hardly want the housekeeper or anyone else to come upon a scene like this.

“No,” she said at last, and went to the door to unlock it.

Edward was stooped in the doorway. His hair was mussed; the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat were only half-done, and his knuckles were white where he clutched his cane in both hands.

Thomas’s insides twisted. But he did not dare go to Edward, and instead watched Mrs. Courtenay take her son’s arm and lead him into the study before locking the door again.

“You know I heard you very well outside,” Edward said. “It’s a good thing no one passed by.”

Whatever colour was left in Mrs. Courtenay’s face drained from it. Thomas noted that with some satisfaction.

“But you can’t disagree with what I said,” she pleaded.

Again Edward’s jaw tightened. Again Thomas wanted to run to him.

“No, Mother,” Edward said. He swallowed hard. Thomas wondered what he was about to say.

“I disagree with it all. And I’m –” Edward hesitated, covering his mouth with one hand. Then he steeled himself. When he spoke next he sounded a little like the commanding officer he had once been. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do; I know you’ll probably never forgive me – but this is my house, and I am _not_ asking him to leave.”

Thomas let his shoulders sag in relief and fought back a small smile. At the very least, he wouldn’t be out in the rain tonight.

Mrs. Courtenay’s mouth curved into a grim line. She said nothing, just stood there looking furious and afraid at once.

But Edward didn’t let the silence cow him.

“You may wish things were different, but the rights vested in me when Father died, which makes this my house.”

At that, the woman collapsed onto the sofa. Thomas drew further into the corner, aware that his part in this horrid bit of theatre had suddenly shrunk.

“You can’t possibly defend this man,” Mrs. Courtenay said.

Edward bit his lower lip.

“I can,” he replied, after a moment. His mother buried her face in her hands. Thomas thought she might start to weep.

“We should talk alone,” she murmured. Then she pulled herself upright, glared at Thomas again, and threw the study key at his feet.

“Get out of my sight, Barrow,” she spat, “and don’t touch either of us when you leave.”

Thomas grabbed up the key from where it had fallen on the floor. He looked over at Edward, who was still standing with hunched shoulders and downcast face between the sofa and the doorway. Thomas felt sick to his stomach. He ached to take Edward in his arms rather than leave him alone with his mother’s fury – or at least give him a quick kiss for good luck – but that was hardly feasible, was it? _Damn it_ , he thought, cursing his own powerlessness.

“You can go up to bed, Thomas,” Edward said.

Thomas looked around the room again, hoping some idea might come to him. Nothing did. He turned away from Mrs. Courtenay.

“Thank you, sir,” he said to Edward before fleeing the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to ALittleWhos-this for the beta read of this chapter. <3

Edward heard the door slam shut as Thomas left the study, and shivered. He didn’t know how he’d had the courage to come down. He’d been stunned and so ashamed, caught in his bed like that, that for several minutes he’d been unable to move.

He supposed his love for Thomas had forced him out of bed – and love for Mother, too, though he doubted she would still love him after tonight.

“Can you come sit with me?” Mother asked. “We need to talk so badly.”

Her tone was gentle. She was usually gentle, but Edward tensed all the same. Though he couldn’t see his reflection anymore in the mirror above the mantel, he was sure his skin had gone as white as paper. If only he didn’t have to go through with this…

“I prefer to stand,” he replied.                                                                                      

Mother sighed. Her gown rustled and her heels clicked on the floor. A moment later Edward felt her trembling hand on his shoulder, her skin every bit as cold as he was himself. He wanted to shrug away the touch, but didn’t.

“Darling, I understand how hard the last few years have been for you, but you see why you mustn’t get into any sort of – entanglement…”

He flinched. “Mother, there’s so much that you _don’t_ understand.”

There was. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, or that she hadn’t suffered herself. But she hadn’t been with him in the trenches, nor had she ever been reduced, made less than whole, in the way he had after losing his eyesight. She could never comprehend what he and millions of other young men had gone through. Few women could.

And his love for Thomas, the love and friendship that had saved his life when he was at his lowest point – that was one more thing she could never understand. He couldn’t even ask it of her.

His mother’s voice hardened. “I might, you know. I’m not stupid.” She was silent for a moment, then cleared her throat. “All those hours alone with him… It wasn’t just tonight, was it? You already _have_ gotten yourself entangled.”

Edward supposed there was no denying it now. He nodded. His legs buckled under him, and he stretched out his hand, found the carved arm rest of the sofa, and dropped down into a sitting position.

“Are you quite mad? You were doing something that’s against the law…” Mother faltered. She was on the verge of tears; Edward didn’t need to see her face to know that. He thought of the easy, private laughs she and Jack had always shared – Father too, sometimes – and shuddered, panic rolling over him.

“As I said,” he heard his own voice say, “I know you won’t forgive me.”

There was another rustle of satin, and then his mother pressed close to him on the sofa.

“I can forgive anything of you, but I can’t sit by and watch my only surviving child ruin his life.”

Edward backed as far away from her as he could. “What do I have left to ruin?”

“You still have so much,” his mother countered, “you have me and our home and your position. You could marry and have a family, as I want you to – and do you think I could bear seeing you sent to prison?”

She broke down on the last word. Edward froze. Tonight’s disaster and her own threatening Thomas must have drained her, too: she wasn’t a cruel woman by any means.

The sound of her sobs tore at Edward. Sweat beaded at his brow; his limbs felt heavy, weak, but he pulled his mother closer. Her arms went around his neck.

They had seldom embraced like this, except when Edward’s father and later his brother died. Somehow Edward had never noticed how thin and frail she had grown. She’d always been slight, but now she felt almost brittle. He could feel the bones of her arm where he held her even through the cool fabric of her dress. Moved, he reached upward to grip her shoulder but miscalculated and touched her hair instead. A lock of it had come loose from whatever coif she’d been wearing. Bitterly, Edward wondered if her fair hair had gone grey since his return.

“He _must_ be a bad influence,” Mother whispered, in a hoarse, strained voice. “He must be taking advantage of you and everything you’ve suffered. I can’t blame my own darling son…”

Edward’s heart pounded. _Please don’t_ , he thought. _Can’t you see what he’s done for me?_

“He’s not,” he admitted. Again his voice sounded distant, as if someone else were speaking. “And _I’m_ not. I’m not your darling, am I? You’d have been better off if Jack had come home alive, not me.”

He’d thought it might feel good, in a brutish way – accusing her, bringing up her failings instead of his own. It didn’t. Mother sobbed again, brokenly. Edward imagined the look of helpless, girlish shock on her face, and reproached himself for being vicious. He held her tighter.

“How can you say that?” she asked, choking back another sob.

Edward shuddered. He’d heard few sounds that pained him so, except perhaps the strangled animal groans of men dying in the trenches. _And this is my fault; I hurt her, as I always do._

“I’m sorry,” he said, stroking her hair. Mother sniffed and turned her head. Edward felt her hot tears on his palm. He drew his hand away, slow and hesitant. His sleeve was still unbuttoned where Thomas had taken off his cufflinks. He’d been too stupid and panicked to dress himself, and now the cursed loose sleeve pulled back. Though he couldn’t see the danger, he knew she might glimpse his scars and hurried to replace his sleeve with his other hand…

…Too late. He felt his mother’s cold fingers curl around his wrist, and thought he might faint from fear and shame.

“What’s that scar?” Mother asked.

“War wound.”

Edward recognized the words as the answer he’d planned, in case this secret, too, should be discovered. But his voice wavered.

He could hear his mother’s frown.

“N– no – From the little that I know, that sort of cut can’t be from a bullet or anything at the Front…”

“Mother, it doesn’t matter–” Edward pleaded, trying to pull away. She gripped his hand tighter.

“What happened?” she asked again. Her voice rose. Edward knew she was close to hysteria. His stomach lurched, as if he might be sick. _Please, I can’t manage this…_ He longed for Thomas’s calm reassurance.

“Mother, I –”

“ _What happened to you_?”

“It was self-inflicted,” Edward answered.

His mother was shocked into silence for a moment. Edward shut his useless eyes.

“When was this?” Mother asked.

“In the hospital,” Edward said. “Once – once I knew the blindness would be permanent.”

The details hardly mattered. Mother broke into a fresh round of weeping, and Edward pulled her close again, though he wished more than ever that he had succeeded that night in the hospital.

“What else don’t I know about you?” Mother cried out. “Why would you keep that from me? You hardly wanted me to visit when you were wounded – and now years later to learn this–”

“I was ashamed,” Edward said.

“Why?”

Edward swallowed hard. “I thought you and Jack might have me declared unfit…”

“Would I do that to you?” was the terse reply.

_You might have_ , Edward thought. _When Jack was alive…_

“Is that what you meant when you said your precious Barrow saved your life?”

Edward nodded.

“That and more…”

She sobbed against his chest. Edward wondered why he was consoling her, when he was the one whose life was surely over.

“Mother, I’m tired,” he pleaded. “I can’t take much more of this. Not now.”

But she continued to cling to him. Edward sighed, then dropped a kiss on her forehead as she wept. _We should both get some sleep; we’ll solve nothing like this_ , he thought, and imagined telling her so – perhaps even carrying her up to her room and tucking her into her bed, as if she were his child instead of the other way around. Father had always doted on her as he might have done with a small girl.

Edward knew he wouldn’t be able to carry her and walk with his cane, however. He sighed.

“Mother, I – I think I should go away for a little while,” he murmured as his mind returned to the sordid reality he’d found himself in. “I think it would be best after this.”

He and Thomas had discussed what they might do if the worst ever happened. Edward doubted he had the strength to carry through with any sort of plan, but he had to protect Thomas, didn’t he? After what his mother had said about him earlier, and in case anyone else guessed by now. And he wanted to escape, if such a thing were even possible.

Mother checked her crying again.

“Go away?” she demanded. “Without me? Why, do you think I would call the police on _you_?”

Edward shook his head.

“It’s not you,” he replied. “But the other staff, and–”

“You’re more worried about Barrow, aren’t you?”

He was. What Mother had said about Thomas – her inability to understand that there was _love_ between them – had chilled him, though it had come as no surprise. He wouldn’t survive losing Thomas; he wouldn’t survive the guilt. And he had hurt Mother, too. Really, she’d be better off without him. Why couldn’t she see that?

“I’m sorry I’m like this,” he said, putting a hand to his face. He heard a roaring in his ears. Desperately, he told himself that he couldn’t break down too, when she was in such a state. “I’m sorry I’m the one who survived. I wish Jack had come home to you, and that I’d bled to death in that hospital –”

“Stop it,” Mother whimpered. “Don’t describe it, darling – you’re frightening me…”

Edward gasped for breath. He didn’t know why he had said that to her. His nerves must be too shattered to think of anything that wouldn’t make things worse.

“I’m sorry,” he managed. “I just – I think I should leave for a while. It needn’t be for long.”

“You can’t show _Barrow_ more loyalty than you show me,” Mother said, “and you can’t leave me alone like this, without letting me help you –”

“I’ll write,” Edward said. His panic ebbed and flowed; he hoped he would at least have the strength and the coordination to get up to his own room.

Mother sighed.

“You may _think_ I know nothing about your condition,” she snapped, “but I know you mean _he’d_ write to me, and read my letters aloud to you.”

Edward flinched. Anger flared in him. He stiffened and tried to move away from her.

“I can’t manage otherwise,” he snapped, thinking of how little she must understand him, “You should know I wish I could still see, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Mother was silent for a moment. Then she gave another small, strangled sob.

“Darling, I’m sorry.”

Edward tilted his head down, as he’d been told to do when he was bleeding in the hospital. The roaring in his ears reminded him of that night – of how close he had been to death. _I can’t do this,_ he thought. _I can’t manage at all…_

“Please–” Mother said. She raised one hand to stroke his hair, tentatively, as she had sometimes done when he was small and had skinned a knee or sprained an ankle at play.

“All right,” Edward relented – though really, nothing had changed and nothing was all right. He didn’t think it ever would be. “But I want to go to bed, and I think you should do the same. We – we won’t solve anything now.”

“Then let me help you up,” Mother said. Her grip slackened. Soon her hands left Edward’s arm and the back of his neck. He supposed she was getting a handkerchief to dry her eyes before she took hold of him again.

Edward’s heart was still pounding, and his face was still damp with sweat, but he would take even a moment of respite. He accepted Mother’s arm when she offered it to him, and let her help him up from the sofa.

“Please don’t leave me,” she repeated as she handed him his stick.

Edward’s pulse quickened.

“Mother, I won’t speak more of it tonight.”

“Very well – but I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow. I’ll come down for it, all right? And you’ll be there. I’ll have Davis arrange it properly, like we used to before.”

_Before the war_ , Edward thought, shuddering again. He felt Mother put one hand on the back of his neck, crane his head down, and kiss his forehead as if he were still a child. But it was too little, too late, and Edward was exhausted from everything that had happened. He knew he might not be there tomorrow.

*

Thomas passed a dreadful hour up in his attic room, praying that the other staff had gone to bed and wondering when he would dare sneak down to see Edward. He had to know if Edward was all right after the disaster they’d survived. He paced over to the door several times, listening. Stupid Davis had come in from his afternoon off as Thomas was trudging up to his room after the scene. They’d passed briefly on the back stairs, and though Thomas had tried to make himself look impassive, he’d been startled when he was still shaking with fear for himself and Edward. They’d said nothing, yet Thomas had seen suspicion in the other man’s eyes as he slunk back to his own room with his head down. The boot boy was around, too. Neither Thomas nor Edward had thought to get rid of him. The boy, Patrick, was terrified of Thomas and had seemed too young and naïve to be a threat. Now, however, the presence of another person just one room over from Thomas made the sweat stand out on his brow. And Davis knew the Courtenay family well. He wasn’t as sharp as Mr. Carson had been, but he’d worked for the family for so long, he might pick up on Mrs. Courtenay’s hysteria and Thomas’s sneaking around, and put the two together…

Thomas wiped his damp forehead with his hand and opened the door again. It was half past twelve. Finally, the attic hallway sounded quiet, deserted. Thomas took a deep breath, stepped from his room, shutting the door behind him silently, and crept downstairs.

His heart began to pound before his foot even touched the second step. Actually, it was more likely it hadn’t stopped pounding since the moment they were caught; Thomas wasn’t sure. He wished it would, because it seemed so loud that anyone might _hear_ and catch him again.

Thomas wondered if going into Edward’s room now could be any more incriminating than what Mrs. Courtenay had seen. Only – he couldn’t stay away from Edward. He had to know if Edward was still all right, still alive – still willing to see him at all, because he couldn’t lose Edward…

“ _Sir_ ,” he whispered, drawing close to Edward’s door. _Bit late for that now_ , he thought, biting one fingernail. _Not being familiar…_

Edward opened the door a moment later, white-faced and haggard. But he was alive. He hadn’t tried to hurt himself like that horrid night in the hospital, and the sight of him made Thomas exhale in relief.

“You’d best get inside,” Edward whispered. Thomas obliged, shutting the door behind them.

“Are you all right?” Thomas asked.

Edward sighed. He was half dressed, as if he had been unable to decide whether he should try to go to bed.

“I’m as well as you can expect, considering what happened tonight,” he murmured. “Considering I’ve as good as thrown away my family and my home.”

Thomas could hear the hitch in his breath that was only present during moments of extreme agitation. He reached for Edward’s hand and grasped it.

“Well, you saved me,” Thomas replied. His voice was thick. “If not for you I’d probably have been arrested or sleeping out on the moor or something.”

Even in the darkness Thomas could see the faintest smile pulling at Edward’s mouth. He was so kind, despite his own unhappiness – one of the kindest men Thomas had ever known.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Edward said. Then his smile faded again. “Only we – someone may have heard something. Mother would never talk about it, not even to Fielding, but someone may have heard the row…”

It was the same fear that had made Thomas stand at his own door sweating for the better part of an hour. Edward worried at his lower lip as soon as he finished his sentence. Thomas knew him well enough to know how frightened he must be, for all he sounded so quiet, so resigned. He stepped closer and put his hand to Edward’s cheek. Edward stood still for a moment, before drawing closer to nuzzle into the touch.

“Then we’ll go away together,” Thomas said. They had talked about it; the nature of their relationship, and of all Thomas’s love affairs, required caution.

Edward drew back.

“I suppose it would make sense to get out of England, wouldn’t it?” he asked, then gestured toward the bed. “As you’ve always said.” He stopped and bit his lip again, hard enough that Thomas could see him draw blood. Thomas winced in sympathy.

“At least you should, in case of anything,” Edward went on. Thomas’s pulse quickened. Edward didn’t say it, but they both knew Mrs. Courtenay would protect him, or would try at least. That wasn’t very reliable, though: Thomas didn’t trust her – she had no malice toward Edward, but she was helpless, passive, and indecisive – just the sort of person who’d be no use to anyone. Thomas had always hated those things in her as he hated them in other people.

Then again, she hadn’t been any of that when she’d harangued Thomas for corrupting her son and threatened to turn him out into the rain. He had to admit that much.

Edward sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come sit with me, Thomas – I suppose we should try to plan, though I don’t know what use I’ll be.”

“You’re incredible,” Thomas whispered, sitting down beside Edward. “What you did tonight was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.” He meant it.

“It wasn’t,” Edward murmured. “Really, it wasn’t. I’ll just break Mother’s heart and probably yours too, in time.”

Now Thomas sighed. Edward must have heard him, because he reached for Thomas’s shoulder and gripped it.

“I’m sorry – you’ve been wonderful to me.”

Thomas kissed him, quick and feverish.

“I _love_ you,” he said. “I _love_ you, and I’d have nowhere to go and no one to go to if not for you.”

Edward laughed, humourlessly. “How sad, then. I can’t imagine how I’ll survive this – you know how I am.” His brow was creased; Thomas saw the muscle in his jaw twitch, and put his hand to his mouth. _Please don’t, Edward – I need you._

“It would be simpler if I could just stop living and stop hurting myself and others…”

Thomas shook his head, though he knew full well Edward couldn’t see him. _Please don’t fall to pieces now, when we need to plan._

“Heaven forbid that,” he said, wrapping Edward in his arms. “We’re together, and that’s something, isn’t it? We’ll think of something.”

He kissed Edward again. This time, Edward returned the kiss and moved his hand to the back of Thomas’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Edward repeated. “I suppose we do need each other – and whatever happens, you can count on me. Even if I were to die or…” _Kill myself_ , Thomas thinks, and feels his heart jump before Edward can even finish speaking – “Take sick or something, or have to leave you, I would give you the finest reference you can imagine. And, if my own name weren’t filth by that time – if my word could do you any good at all – you’d at least have that to count on.”

“We’re a long way from that,” Thomas said, because he couldn’t lose Edward. He just _couldn’t_. “We’re not there yet.   _Darling_ , we can– we could leave in the morning before the rest of the house is awake.”

Edward faltered. He started to shake his head, before putting his hand to his mouth once more to bite at a fingernail. Thomas’s stomach sank. He realized too late that this might be too much to ask of Edward – Edward who had something to lose, in a way Thomas never had.

“It would be a hideous thing to do to Mother,” Edward murmured. “Though I know she said hideous things about you….”

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t counted on having to fight for Edward’s heart like this.

“You just said you were afraid someone else might have heard the row,” he pointed out. “And your mother would forgive _you_ , but never me.”

“She won’t if I leave,” Edward said. “Besides, I never expected to have to flee my own house like a fugitive.”

“It may not be for long,” Thomas pleaded. He breathed in deeply, fighting back the panic he thought had subsided earlier. Really, they’d both be better off. It was impossible _not_ to go. “We could go to France for a bit – the laws aren’t so bad there.”

Edward gave another sigh.

“And how would we live?”

Thomas hesitated. “Well, you have money. It could last us a little while. And I will do anything to make you happy and look out for you, I promise.”

“Everything I have is tied up in the estate,” Edward said. “Well, nearly everything. We couldn’t go on for long.”

Now Thomas bit at his own lip. A shudder ran through him.  

“Look,” he began, “we can’t stay here, and I can’t go without you. I know it might not be the best hotels and all that, but we could make do for a bit–”

Edward stiffened.

“I have never cared about the best hotel or the best of anything,” he said, coldly. “You know that, or you should – you should know there’s rather more at stake for me.”

_Damn it_ , Thomas thought. He _should_ have known better than to sound accusing with Edward at a time like this.

“I know that,” he said, quickly. “And I’m sorry.”

Edward hung his head. That tight, choked feeling came back around Thomas’s chest. He’d be lost without Edward. He’d been alone for so long, so much of his life, already. If Edward didn’t have the courage to go with him – if he blamed Thomas, or said he should just go _by himself_ – he didn’t think he could survive it. Edward had less to fear; for all Thomas disliked her, he believed Mrs. Courtenay when she said she would not have scandal or the police touch her own son. Edward was hers. Thomas, however, was no one’s if not Edward’s. He never had been. _We’ve got to go – or stay – together…_

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice rising in desperation. “Look, you know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Impulsively, he took Edward’s hands and clung to him. It was an awful lot like begging, the way he grasped at his love’s hands with panicked tears prickling at his eyes, but Thomas didn’t care. He couldn’t right now. God, he _needed_ to bring Edward with him if he left, for both their sakes.

Edward tried to draw back, his jaw clenching. Thomas felt sweat bead at his brow. He didn’t think he’d been half as scared when they were caught…

“I know that,” Edward murmured. “I’m sorry, too – but I’m useless and I wonder, what would be the point of running?”

_Oh God,_ Thomas thought, still clutching Edward’s fingers and wishing he would entwine them with Thomas’s own. _Oh God, oh God_ …

 “We’d be together,” Thomas managed.

“It would look more suspicious than anything,” Edward countered. “We’d be running from the inevitable.”

“We wouldn’t have to be – I’d write for you, you know; you could see if, and when, things quieted down here.”

He started to lean forward to kiss Edward’s cheek, then stopped himself, afraid he’d push the other man away. _Please come with me._

“Yes,” Edward said with another sigh, “she’s quite aware of that.”

Now Thomas could feel his heart beating off-kilter.

“I don’t think we’d have to stay away _long_ ,” he repeated, though of course he was probably wrong and Edward knew it. “I’ll look after everything. _Please_. We’ll both be safer…”

His voice broke as he recalled the disaster that tonight had been. Edward had every right to remind him how carelessly they had acted, and how poorly Thomas had looked out for the both of them so far.

But he didn’t. He put his right arm around Thomas’s shoulders to pull him closer, and twined the fingers of his other hand around Thomas’s at last. Thomas buried his head in Edward’s neck.

“It’s – it’s all right,” Edward said. Thomas cringed. He shouldn’t be panicking; he shouldn’t force Edward to bear this sort of burden.

“You’re the strong one,” Edward said, as if he could read Thomas’s thoughts. Thomas sighed. He didn’t trust his voice just now, and said nothing. Edward moved his right hand upward to stroke Thomas’s hair and temple. Thomas kissed his neck, wondering if he could dare hope again.

“You’re strong too,” Thomas whispered. “We’ll be better off if we go.”

“You must be quite mad,” Edward said sadly.

_Please no_ , Thomas thought, afraid his heart would stop, until Edward continued, “I – Well, I suppose I must be as mad as you are. But I won’t cast you off like that.”

Thomas exhaled.

“Thank you,” he murmured before turning his head to kiss Edward’s cheek and jaw and mouth, any part of him his lips could reach.

Edward shook his head. His curls brushed against Thomas’s cheek.

“You don’t have to thank me. I trust you can make the arrangements first thing in the morning?”

Thomas grinned like a fool. “I’ll be up all night planning – we can head for the station before dawn, if you like.”

*

Laura Courtenay cried herself to sleep that night, after Fielding helped her undress, yet woke the next morning in a curiously optimistic mood. She meant what she had said the night before. She _could_ forgive anything of her only surviving child – her only surviving family, apart from siblings with whom she was not close. And she had no doubt that she could bring Edward back under her influence with love and care, though he’d spent years pushing her away. Perhaps he’d been right in some respects. She had been closer to Jack – the son who understood her better, or at least made her laugh far more. But if she’d been wrong or cruel in any way, then she was punished for it now. She couldn’t survive losing Edward, through suicide or abandonment or anything else, and so she must rebuild the bridges she had burned without even realizing it.

“I’ll go down to breakfast today,” she told Fielding. Fielding furrowed her brow, confused, before nodding. She was so quiet she seemed rather slow sometimes, but she was loyal and kind and excellent at doing hair, which was why Laura had engaged her in the first place. That had been when Edward was very small and times were happier, when fashions and things like that still mattered to Laura.

“Very good, mum,” Fielding said.

So she dressed in something suitable – a violet morning dress she’d gotten before the war ended – and went downstairs with a smile on her face. Of course her poor Edward wouldn’t see the smile, and would hardly have cared about her gown even if he still had his eyesight, poor darling. But she thought it might make it easier to pretend that things were normal, as they had been before the war and before Barrow had ever come into their lives. She needed to pretend.

She had to wander around the house a bit before she found Davis. Laura supposed she’d grown so disinterested in running the place that she hardly knew his schedule anymore, and actually apologized before asking him to lay out breakfast for herself and her son.

Davis blinked. He said nothing for a moment. Laura’s blood ran cold in her veins. _Edward_ can’t _have left_ , she thought. _He wouldn’t run off with Barrow; he hardly goes out at all now, and he couldn’t be that rash or that cruel to me…_

“Didn’t he tell you, mum?” Davis asked.

Laura’s mouth dropped open. “Tell me _what_?”

Something in her panicked tone alarmed Davis. He frowned deeply and took a step back.

“Mr. Courtenay said he was going to London for a few days on business. He and Barrow caught the first train this morning.”

Her heart sank. That damn Barrow again, luring Edward away from her and into real danger. She looked down and blinked back tears.

“Thank you, Davis,” she managed. Then she turned from him and ran until she was halfway up the stairs, like a small girl instead of a grown lady.

Fielding caught up to her near her own room. By that time the tears were streaming down Laura’s face.

“What’s wrong, mum?”

Laura shook her head.

“Edward’s left for London,” she said, “and I find I don’t want any breakfast after all. Just help me change; I want to go back to bed.”

Fielding nodded and helped Laura to her room as she wept into her hands. Somehow Fielding got her as far as the dressing table, though she must have had a devil of a time getting Laura out of her gown. Laura scarcely noticed – scarcely felt any physical sensation at all. All she could think of were the shameful secrets surrounding her son and the fact of Edward’s running away from her with another man, perhaps off to the Continent as if he were Oscar Wilde or something instead of her own, good child. (Laura remembered the Wilde scandal, though her husband had discouraged her reading about sordid things. Edward had been a baby at the time and Laura was morbidly fascinated by the distraction the news provided. She wasn’t a fool, for all everyone treated her like a schoolgirl, and there were papers even in the sleepy, isolated, backwater estate she’d married into…)

Yet for all that, she would never, ever call Edward’s suicide attempt shameful. The revelation nearly broke her heart, but she couldn’t blame him after the horrors he’d lived through. And though she cried and panicked when she learned how long he had kept it from her, she understood more than he knew, and more than she had ever let on. She never admitted it aloud, but she had sometimes thought of doing the same thing herself for much less cause. Sometimes she’d simply wondered what it was like to die. She’d suffered vicious and inexplicable depression when her children were born, for all she’d been a healthy mother with beautiful, healthy sons and a doting husband; she remembered having to smile around him and around the well-meaning friends who called on her lest anyone think she was mad. It was almost easier with the middle son she’d miscarried: at least people pretended to understand her grief and her fear, at that time. Yet really Laura had wanted to cringe or weep, or even throw herself from one of the attic windows, whenever she’d heard her babies cry or tried to nurse them…

One moment Laura was sitting at her dressing-table, thinking back, and the next, she had flung herself facedown onto her bed to weep openly. She’d wept more in the last few hours than she had since Jack died near the end of the war. Fielding hovered by her bed, afraid to leave. She _must_ have been afraid – sometimes Laura frightened herself with her moods.

“I know it’s not my place,” Fielding said, touching Laura’s shoulder in a way that would have been more suited to a sister than a maid. “But I’m sure Mr. Courtenay meant no harm. I’m sure it’s nothing to do with the quarrel you had.”

Of course she knew about the quarrel, having looked after Laura the night before. Laura shuddered and sobbed harder at the thought. Somehow, she would have to gauge what the staff knew or had guessed about that horrid evening.

Fielding’s grip slackened for a moment, then grew firmer again. “You know how unhappy he’s been – he probably had business in London and just didn’t think he’d go ‘til the last minute. And he’s brought Mr. Barrow with him. For all Mr. Barrow’s a bit sharp with us downstairs, I know he’ll look after Mr. Courtenay…”

Laura’s stomach lurched. She choked back another sob, and composed herself enough to whisper, “I don’t want to hear it.”

_I never want to hear about that evil man again_ , she thought – but of course she couldn’t get into all that. She couldn’t confide in anyone about the sordid influence that had alienated her son’s affections, and would surely lead him to ruin. Yet even if Barrow’s feelings for Edward were obscene, and threatened almost certain disaster, he _did_ make himself useful, everyone could see that. They might also have seen that he was much too close to Edward…

It didn’t bear thinking about. She _couldn’t_ bear it, but she could do her part to suppress the scandal, couldn’t she?

“I don’t want anyone to ask me about our quarrel, either,” she added. Somehow, she managed to speak clearly despite the lump in her throat. “In fact, if anyone does – if anyone tries to pry – I _will_ dismiss them without a reference. I’m sorry if I seem harsh, but that’s the way it has to be.”

“I’m – I’m sorry, mum,” Fielding said, puzzled. “I’ll never bring it up again.”

Perhaps Fielding was used to her hysterics, her terrible, terrible grief by now. It didn’t matter, as long as she kept her promise.

“See that you don’t,” Laura commanded.

“Should I go?” Fielding asked.

Laura thought of the empty house where she had once been a happy young wife and mother (happier than she was now, at any rate). She thought of the son and husband she’d buried, and the surviving son who had gone off to ruin his life – perhaps even succeed at killing himself – with a man she despised, far from her reach and her care. Whatever calm she’d managed shattered. She pressed her cheek to her pillow and broke into fresh weeping.

“Not yet,” she sobbed, “please, not just yet.”

And Fielding, at least, stood by her and rubbed her shoulder in that familiar way of hers which Laura would never criticize.


	3. Chapter 3

They reached the station as a weak morning sun struggled to shine from behind the clouds. It had been about two months since they were last in London, for a short trip over some investments of Edward’s late father’s. Edward had been nervous then, too, but that paled in comparison to his demeanour this morning. Thomas kept worrying at his own lip and wishing he dared take Edward’s hand in the car. That would only make things worse, however, so he sat as close to Edward as he could, patting his arm once or twice, and feeling his chest tighten every time Edward twitched or sighed or bit at a fingernail. Thomas hoped it was early enough for them to have some privacy on the train.

The station nearest the Courtenay estate was only a small country rail station, but Thomas didn’t recognize the old man at the counter as he hurried towards it, Edward a few steps behind him. Thomas smiled tightly at the old man.

“Two first class tickets to London, please, for the seven a.m. train,” Thomas said.

The old man blinked. It dawned on him that his accent had sounded particularly round and working-class when he spoke.

“First class?” the old man murmured.

Thomas’s cheeks coloured, though the station was empty apart from the three of them.

“Yes please,” Thomas repeated, coolly, as the older man turned and noticed Edward at last. Edward’s brow was furrowed and his face was turned downward; he glared in the direction of the counter.

“I can’t _see_ ,” he said in one of the shortest tones Thomas had ever heard him use. “How am I to manage alone?”

And the old man understood at last. His face went scarlet and he looked away to fumble with something beneath the counter. Thomas supressed a sigh of his own.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” the old man said. “Really, I am.”

_That’s right_ , Thomas thought. You didn’t treat men who had been blinded fighting for King and country like that; you just didn’t. Besides, in a small place like this, the ticket seller must have known of the Courtenay family and of Edward’s misfortune even if he were enough of a fool not to realize whom he was serving this morning. Edward shook his head.

“Please sell us the tickets, and let’s be on our way.”

“Of course, sir – begging your pardon.”

It was a relief to turn their backs on him and sit down on the single wooden bench that served as a waiting area. Thomas reached for Edward’s arm, to help him. Edward jerked away, however, belying the painful but convenient little fib that they had often used as an excuse to stay closer together than was proper. Thomas tensed. He knew how Edward hated making a show of his blindness, of being dependent on Thomas or anyone. He only wished he could pet and console Edward as he wanted to.

The old man was still watching them with shifty eyes. Thomas turned to glare at him. He jerked his foolish head away, though it was too late for him _not_ to annoy Thomas.

Then the sounds of the train approaching made Thomas exhale in relief. Edward took up his cane again and supported his weight on it as he pulled himself up from the bench.

“Thomas?” he asked.

This time, he didn’t pull away when Thomas took his arm.

“Right here, sir,” he said.

They made their way onto the platform and boarded the train without incident. Thomas guided Edward toward a seat near the door. They were lucky in one respect, at least, because there was no one in the car except for the porter. It was early morning, and Edward’s county was, after all, a quiet one.

Edward worried at his lip as he dropped down into the aisle seat and gripped the armrest hard. Thomas climbed over his long legs to take the window seat instead, though he had no interest in the scenery. He turned to study Edward’s face as he often did. Edward was pale and slumped against the fabric of his seat in despair or, perhaps, from exhaustion. Neither of them had slept the night before.

“Things’ll be all right,” Thomas whispered. “They will, I promise.”

Edward put his hand to his mouth. He didn’t answer for a moment, and Thomas could have kicked himself for saying the wrong thing.

“They _won’t_ ,” Edward said bitterly. “And you can’t possibly promise that.”

Thomas had no answer for him. Instead he reached over to put his arm around Edward in an awkward half-embrace. It was the wrong thing yet again: Edward tensed and flushed with anger.

“Thomas,” he snapped, “for heaven’s sake, we’ve been exposed enough–”

Thomas let go of him. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

That awful tightness came around his chest and throat. He wondered if Edward’s love and caring for him could survive the predicament they’d found themselves in.

Edward shrugged. “I know, only – we can’t make things worse. And I want to be left alone with my thoughts.”

“All right,” Thomas said, though it wasn’t a very satisfactory end to their brief conversation.

Edward must have heard his hesitation. He reached for Thomas’s knee beneath the tray table, as he had done that first day they really spoke in the Downton Village Hospital. Thomas clasped his hand, just for a moment.

“I gave you my word,” Edward said. “I’m not going to abandon you. But you know how difficult this is.”

“I know,” Thomas replied. He relaxed against his own seat. Edward was a gentleman through and through, a real one; his word meant something. Thomas told himself that he should be content with that.

“Maybe we should try to get some rest?” Thomas suggested. “And–” he lowered his voice to a whisper – “thank you. I can’t imagine being without you.”

“Well,” Edward said, trying but failing to smile, “you won’t be, at least for now. And I will try to sleep, though I’m not counting on it.”

He seemed about to say something more. Then he shook his head and shut his eyes, leaning back. Thomas squeezed his hand a second longer before letting go and retreating into his own seat. His eyelids twitched. They had almost six hours left before they would reach London. Thomas knew he should rest to calm his nerves, though he didn’t like to do it if Edward were sitting beside him too anxious to sleep.

Thomas fidgeted in his chair for a while, until he heard Edward’s breathing slow enough to reassure him. They’d shared a bed often enough for Thomas to recognize the sound. He smiled faintly, shifted again so that he would be a respectful distance from Edward if anyone passed by, then tucked their tickets into the armrests for the porter to see, and closed his eyes.

*

Edward was walking in the park at home. He realized early on that he must be dreaming, because he could _see_ the gardens around him, though he was eye-level with the low shrubs that flanked the path down the drive.

He heard voices behind him and turned to look up at Mother and Nanny Medlin.

“You’ll tire your poor mother out, Master Edward,” Nanny scolded him.

He was dimly aware that he was a grown man now, and that it didn’t matter a bit that Medlin, a slow, round Cornishwoman, had often scolded him for running about – and Jack too. They’d had a good few laughs at her expense when they were small.

He opened his mouth in the dream and gaped for a minute. Edward felt as if he were watching himself, but _also_ living the experience, re-enacting his past actions.

“But mamma,” his child self said, “you said you’d come with me.”

Mother laughed an exasperated laugh. “I forget where you said we should go…”

He clambered back up the path and grasped her hand.

“You said you’d come see Mr. Bell with me.”

Mother laughed again. He thought she sounded more cheerful and grinned up at her.

“Teddy, darling, I don’t see why you’re so excited. Your father’s not half as concerned about the orchards as you are.”

He tugged at her skirt. A tightness had come into his throat, though he wasn’t sure why, at the time.

“Mamma, you said, and it’ll be so nice…”

Nanny waved her fat hands helplessly. “You needn’t indulge him, Mrs. Courtenay.”

But Mother ruffled his hair and nodded.

“You must show me where to go,” she said.

He smiled and clapped his hands together before taking hers again and leading her down the path. She clutched at her hat.

“Will you slow down, darling?” Mother asked. Her white flowered skirt billowed behind her in the breeze. Edward slowed his pace, but tapped his foot with impatience. They had left Nanny behind, which suited Edward. Mother was far more charming. Yet he knew, in the dream, that he shouldn’t have pressed her so. The path down to Bell’s farm was treacherous, and she must have been pregnant with Jack at the time Bell was expanding the orchards. She’d already suffered one miscarriage. _I shouldn’t have asked so much of her…_

“Please come with,” Edward murmured.

“You’re a young gentleman, and I’m a lady,” Mother said. There was something in her voice that he didn’t like; he squirmed, too young to grasp what was wrong. “I can’t understand why you’re so excited – I just can’t understand you, darling…”

He clung to her hand, as he remembered doing many years before. Then he shuddered – no, the world shuddered, and he remembered that he was on the train to London with Thomas. They were both fugitives now.

He jolted awake. The blackness of his vision closed in around him and made his stomach clench, after the bright colours in the dream.

The train had halted. Edward scowled at the darkness before him. He didn’t even want to ask what had happened, though he knew they could not have reached London yet.

“We’ve stopped for some reason,” Thomas said.

Edward gritted his teeth. “I _know_ that.”

Thomas said nothing more, but gripped Edward’s hand.

“I can ask what happened,” he suggested, after a pause. “Let’s hope there won’t be much delay.”

“Are we in such a hurry?” Edward asked. They were already fugitives, criminals; he had already thrown away his home and Mother – poor Mother. He cringed to think what she had seen, and what _he_ must have lost.

He heard Thomas sigh.

“I think we’ll be more at ease once we get to France.”

_Yes,_ Edward thought bitterly. _Because we were so very at ease when we were last in France_. The memory made his throat constrict, though at least, in his case, there wouldn’t be many visual reminders of the war.

Somehow he managed to bite back a caustic or despondent remark, and nodded. “All right. See if you can find out what’s happened.”

There _was_ a delay, a blockage of some sort on the track. Edward was in no hurry; he was almost past caring, but he flushed when Thomas took his seat beside him and muttered about the state of the rails in a small place like this.

“It’s my home, you know,” Edward snapped. It was. The little patch of Devonshire where he’d been born, the estate, the surrounding farms and, of course, the shooting and hunting on the grounds were a part of him, or had been, at least. He’d barely managed to hold onto any of that when he lost his eyesight. What would be _left_ , after the previous night?

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said. Thomas was a darling to him, and Edward couldn’t imagine life without him, but Thomas didn’t have quite the same things at stake. Edward doubted he could make Thomas understand exactly how much he might lose, how he looked about to lose himself in the process.

“I just want to get there as soon as possible,” Thomas went on. “I want _us_ to get there.”

Edward put his head in his hands. Thomas’s hurry seemed pointless when they were already lost, but he held his tongue for Thomas’s sake.

“Well,” he murmured, collecting himself, “we will, sooner or later.”

“I know that,” Thomas said. He sounded exhausted. Edward groped for his hand and found it. He wondered if he should try to say something kind or comforting, that no one would suspect and a few hours longer would make no difference. Somehow he couldn’t muster the energy.

“I just want to be safe as soon as possible,” Thomas repeated.

The words – no, the _sound_ of his voice, tight and small, struck Edward. He leaned closer to Thomas, taking his hand into his lap.

“Are we quite alone?” he asked, finding his own voice at last.

“Yeah,” Thomas answered.

Edward’s village, the outlying farms, and the neighbouring towns were quiet indeed. There wouldn’t be many people traveling on this line so early in the day. He was not surprised, though he was keenly aware of having to be _told_ , of not being able to see for himself whether they were alone or not.

“Then we can talk a bit,” Edward said. He swallowed to clear the lump in his throat, hoping Thomas wouldn’t notice and knowing that he probably would. “It really won’t matter if we reach Calais or Paris tonight, tomorrow, or the day after. No one in London will know us; I don’t get about much now, and if we spend the night in some hotel, no one will suspect. It’s only Mother who knows.” He stopped short. He had to swallow again, hard, at the memory of being surprised like that. “I’m the one who really has what to lose, you know.”

That was too much for Thomas.

“I disagree,” he said, sharply. “I don’t think you heard, but she swore she’d have called the police on me but for the fact that you’d have been drawn into it. I’d have had nowhere to go to if–”

“If I hadn’t _helped_ you,” Edward snapped. “And I’m trying to help now, you know.”

He heard Thomas’s sigh. “So am I. The last thing I want is for you to end up in jail, but I’d _also_ really rather avoid it myself.”

“I trust Mother to keep her word–”

“Then why are we running?” Thomas countered. “D’you think I could just stay there? Could you?”

A wave of nausea hit Edward. He gripped the armrest and Thomas’s hand harder, wondering how he hadrun off. That seemed a more pertinent question, not _could he have stayed_ , but how could he have _left_. He’d probably cost himself _and_ them any leverage he might have had with Mother.

“So we’re to run forever?” Edward asked. “According to you…”

Thomas didn’t answer. Edward bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood. Sweat beaded at his brow.

“ _Are we_?”

“I hope not,” Thomas said. He was caving; Edward imagined him picking his words with care, but couldn’t imagine what he must look like doing it. The thought sapped his anger and his anxiety. He slumped backward, resigned.

“I’d do anything to make you happy,” Thomas said, as he had the night before. “Believe me. I want things to turn out all right; you know I do.”

_They won’t_ , Edward thought. They couldn’t, and he really did stand to lose everything. He supposed Thomas did too, in a way.

Thomas stroked his hand. Edward remembered one of the first times they ever spoke, in the hospital at Downton. _You know, when you talk like that, I almost believe you._

He nodded as he patted Thomas’s hand in return, though he was rather past believing him now.

*

The train reached London hours after it was supposed to have gotten in. Things were calmer between Thomas and Edward, but still strained. Then again, Edward was usually calm, as Thomas had learned. He’d been calm enough the day he tried to kill himself.

“I suppose we should find an hotel,” Thomas said, balancing their two small bags in one hand, and taking Edward’s arm with the other. Edward’s face was paper white except for the dark bags under his eyes. Thomas didn’t want to rush him. Besides, no one _was_ likely to recognize orsuspect them here. The thought wasn’t much consolation; the memory of last night still brought beads of sweat to Thomas’s brow, but he had to admit Edward was probably right in thinking a few hours more would make little difference.

Edward nodded.

“I will need to visit my bank,” he murmured. “Obviously – I’ve no idea how long we’ll be out of the country _for_ , but we’ll need enough francs to last us a while.”

“We’ll go as soon as we’ve found our hotel.”

Edward’s fingers curled around his cane. “All right.”

They made their way through the crowd. Thomas watched Edward clench and unclench his jaw, and put his hand to his face once to rub it. Thomas squeezed his arm. Edward had been miserable the last time they were in London, and even when his mother dragged him to that weekend party at Lady Radley’s, but he hadn’t had the terror and the violation of discovery hanging over him then. The crowds and cars and carriages in the streets made him uneasy, which of course depressed him, and reminded him of how much he’d lost. Thomas wondered how a long trip might try him.

_I won’t let you get hurt_ , Thomas thought. He didn’t dare say it aloud.

In the end, they took a room at the same hotel they’d stayed in last time. It had a small, adjoining room for a gentleman’s valet, so Thomas wouldn’t have to sleep in an attic far away from Edward. He had no intention of letting Edward out of his sight at a time like this. Edward flushed when Thomas reminded him about the room, as he tended to when Thomas was too outspoken about looking after him, but he agreed.

“What shall I say to my banker?” Edward asked once they were alone in the room. “I… suppose we should go now, only I can’t think what to tell him.”

The clerk at the hotel desk had been kind to him. People usually were – too kind. Edward had been flustered, snappish; he wasn’t up to masking his annoyance at being patronized.

“Do we have to say anything?” Thomas countered, calmly.

Edward shrugged, then picked his way across the room with his cane and sat down in the armchair by the bay window. It was a charming room, Thomas thought, with its dark green tufted armchairs and four-poster bed. It reminded him of Edward’s room at home, in some ways. Pity he couldn’t see it; he’d have liked it.

Thomas sat down on the bed, grimacing.

“Well,” Edward said bitterly, “I’m a bit old to go trotting off to the Continent on the Grand Tour, aren’t I? I wouldn’t get much out of it now.”

Thomas suppressed a sigh. “He won’t ask. It would be too rude to pry.”

Edward shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

“I hope you’re right. I hope he won’t ask awkward questions.”

“I will be right,” Thomas said. “I promise.” He worried at a fingernail before going on. “Do you want anything to eat or drink before we go out again?”

Edward’s mouth twitched. “What o’clock is it?”

Thomas pulled his watch out of his jacket pocket and told him. Edward shook his head.

“We’d better go,” he said. “I don’t want to miss the morning train tomorrow, and Hill might be busy this afternoon. We should go now.”

*

Hill, the banker who’d managed the Courtenay family’s money since long before Thomas came into the picture, was available and quite good about arranging a supply of francs with no questions asked. Edward was frightfully nervous all the same. He kept his head bowed, and twitched and stammered like a man suffering from bad shell shock. Thomas’s hand on his arm did little good. But Hill and his clerk pretended not to notice, and Thomas and Edward were out of the bank within an hour, with enough francs to last them two months should they need them.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Thomas whispered into Edward’s ear as they descended the marble stairs to the street. Thomas raised a hand to hail a cab.

“Everything’s been quite bad,” Edward muttered. “I know I shouldn’t sulk, but I’m finding it hard to be cheerful about anything, under the circumstances.”

“It’s all right,” Thomas said, gripping Edward’s hand. “You’re not sulking.”

The roar of traffic distressed Edward. His face was tight as he leaned toward the street, listening to too many sounds at once; he stopped walking at one point, jerking Thomas backward.

“Damn it,” he said, swallowing.

“It’s all right,” Thomas repeated. “I’ve got us a cab now; he’s seen me.”

“I almost wish we hadn’t bothered with the hotel,” Edward said, in a weak voice. Thomas frowned at how little he could do to help Edward. _If only I’d locked that door…_

“We could almost make the overnight train after all….”

“It won’t matter,” Thomas said. The cab he had hailed slowed and stopped in front of them. Thomas breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “We’ll have a rest tonight. You said yourself one more day wouldn’t make much difference.”

“Well, _you_ said you wanted to get away as soon as possible,” Edward snapped. Thomas helped him into the cab without a word. The driver looked over his shoulder, then opened the door and started getting out to offer help. People did that with poor young men who’d been blinded fighting for King and country. Thomas shook his head, scowling. The last thing he needed was for another patronizing gesture to set Edward off worse.

The driver sat back down. Edward slid into his seat without realizing, thankfully, and Thomas took his place beside him.

“Where to, sir?” the driver asked.

“The Royal at Paddington,” Edward said. Then he leaned closer to Thomas. “I doubt either of us will rest tonight – not really.”

He said it dully, the way he had on the train. He was right, but Thomas clasped his hand anyway.

“Well, the Royal’s more comfortable than the train,” he whispered. “We’ll be all right.”

Edward’s tight, pale face belied his words.

*

Edward was quiet all through that afternoon and evening, and when Thomas touched him in guiding him up the spiral stairs to their room or back down to the hotel restaurant, he could just _feel_ how tightly wound Edward’s muscles were. Thomas wasn’t much better off. He had little appetite, even though Edward insisted that they dine together. Thomas hoped it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. He’d dined with Philip in a few nice places, but that was years before, when he was younger and brasher, and they had never, ever been caught in the act of sex – heaven forbid.

That daring was long gone, now. Thomas pushed the food around on his plate and gazed about the room. The hotel catered to a respectable crowd; Thomas could see it in the ladies’ dresses and hear it in the other patrons’ quiet talk and posh speech. From time to time one of them would notice the scars on Edward’s face and the slow, meticulous way he would cut up a bite of his supper, then turn their head and nod at Thomas, the devoted friend or servant. There was no real suspicion in their faces, only gaping, awkward pity as they looked away from Thomas quickly.

One man did make eye contact with Thomas. He was a few years older than Thomas himself, well-dressed, with a gentleman’s bearing and a deep scar along his cheek from an old shrapnel wound. It must have been minor. He’d been lucky. He nodded his head toward Thomas and Edward in a gesture that was a little like a salute before turning back to his own wife and child. Thomas noticed them then, for the first time, and pushed himself closer to Edward. They looked so happy, the former officer with his wife and daughter; they must have been settling her into a girls’ boarding school after the holiday. Something about the mother and daughter’s straw-coloured hair and dark dresses reminded him of Mrs. Courtenay. Thomas scowled, stomach twisting at the memory.

“What’s the matter?” Edward asked softly. “Or is that a stupid question?”

“I just don’t trust anyone,” Thomas said, and wished he hadn’t. Edward flushed, then went pale.

“Why, has someone noticed or – or said something? I need you to warn me, you know.”

“It’s not that,” Thomas said. “No one’s even noticed us, only I can’t be easy.”

Edward’s jaw twitched. “At least you can _see_ what’s going on. What do you think this is like for me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Should we go?” Edward asked.

Thomas looked around the room again. The sight of the happy little family brought a lump to his throat; he had to avert his eyes to keep from glaring openly at them when he knew it wasn’t _fair_ to. The man had only tried to offer understanding, or recognition.

Then again, there was just as much love between himself and Edward as there could be between the man sitting opposite and his wife. Perhaps there was more. It was hardly fair that he and Edward should risk prison for their love while other couples were celebrated and free and recognized as real families.

“Thomas?” Edward asked.

Thomas blinked. He’d been so busy brooding he’d forgotten Edward’s question.

“Well, I don’t want to rush you away,” he replied.

Edward gave a laugh that was more like a sigh. “I can’t eat anyway.”

One glance at his plate told Thomas that he had about as much appetite as Thomas himself did. Thomas thought of those first days in the hospital when Edward had barely wanted to get out of bed, let alone make an effort to eat or take care of himself. He licked his bottom lip. It was badly chapped. He had never been discovered like this before, and the strain of not knowing what his own fate would be, of dreading a downward spiral for Edward, had begun to show.

“Well, if that’s all you want, I suppose we should go upstairs,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Edward agreed, setting down his napkin. “Just call the waiter; I’ll have him add it to the hotel bill.”

They returned to their room soon after.

“I’ll have you help me with the bath,” Edward said, hunching his shoulders.

Thomas took his hand. “Of course.”

At home, or least at Edward’s home, they might have used the opportunity to make love. Now, of course, that was out of the question. The bathroom was shared between two rooms, and although the hotel was quiet, Thomas knew Edward would not be up to the risk. He wasn’t either, really.

“It – it will be just like at home,” he offered, because he had little else to say.  

Edward’s face darkened at once.

“Of course it won’t,” Edward snapped. Then he collected himself. “But I suppose I’m tired and it might help a bit.”

“We`re both tired,” Thomas said. He began to collect Edward’s dressing gown and pajamas, towels, and, finally, added his own dressing gown and pajamas to the pile, then took Edward’s hand. They made their way into the hall. For all Edward hated feeling dependant and like an invalid, he didn’t _need_ to – not half as much as he feared, at any rate. He navigated very well to the bath, and locked the door while Thomas ran the tap.

“Should I–” Thomas paused, frowning at the irony, “shall I help you undress?”

Edward nodded. Thomas drew closer to him. He kept his touch light, professional, but Edward put his hand on Thomas’s hip and tugged him closer still. Thomas held his breath, surprised. Edward hesitated – the damp, shared bath didn’t seem at all private even with the door locked – then nuzzled his lips against Thomas’s cheek before kissing him, full and open-mouthed. Thomas let his eyes fall shut as he kissed back.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” Thomas murmured. “If you’re…” _Too unhappy_ , he thought. “ – Tired, or anything.”

Edward nodded. Thomas helped him into the tub. His own muscles were knotted and his bad hand ached from the damp autumn weather and the strain of the last few days. He would have liked to share Edward’s bath, as he might have done at home, to relax his tired body and to be with his love.

Thomas had to look away. Edward, of course, had no way of knowing that he did.

“I’m – right here should you need me,” Thomas offered. Edward gave another small nod. Thomas rubbed at the back of his neck, wondering if he would reopen their quarrel if he said anything about the train tomorrow. He decided to risk it.

“I think you were right,” he said, hoping talking would pass the time. “Earlier, I mean. It’s just as well we’re not on another train right now.”

Edward shrugged before running a handful of soapy water through his hair.

“Well, we did need the money,” he murmured. “And with all the delays…”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence. Thomas watched him furrow his brow, mouth tightening into a grim line, and worried at his own fingernail.

“I do want to write home once we arrive,” Edward said, at length. Thomas thrust his hands into his pockets. He had said himself that they would write to Mrs. Courtenay and test the waters. He supposed, too, that Edward would have to go home eventually – yet hearing it unsettled him. He resented having to share Edward with the woman who had forced their hands like this.

“All right,” Thomas said. He made sure to speak quietly, in the hope that Edward wouldn’t hear his unease. He didn’t, or didn’t seem to at any rate. Instead he gave a non-committal _hmm_ low in his throat, then stretched one hand out toward Thomas.

“Do you mind helping me up?” he asked. Of course Thomas didn’t. He said as much, stepped closer to the bath, and helped Edward out of it, trying _not_ to want him right now. He must be too tired and too unhappy to want to sleep with Thomas tonight.

“You can use the bath yourself, if you like,” Edward said. Thomas’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “I daresay you must be as tired as I am. I don’t mind waiting.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said as he helped Edward into his pajamas and dressing gown. Edward nodded, absently, before grasping Thomas’s arm in one hand to tug him closer. They stood like that for a second, Thomas too hesitant to kiss Edward, after what had happened last night. But Edward surprised him again by placing a quick kiss on his cheek, then took up his cane and felt his way toward the chair by the door. Thomas watched him sit down with that mixture of love and worry he’d grown so used to since he met Edward. He ran the tap once more and eased himself into the bath without once looking away from the other man.

“I am grateful,” he said. More filler, in the silent room. Edward gave him a faint smile.

Thomas didn’t spend long in the bath, but the few minutes he did allow himself were better than nothing. The warmth of the water relaxed his taut muscles, just a bit. The sensation was pleasant, though he didn’t like Edward’s silence.

“I suppose we shouldn’t be up late tonight,” Thomas said. “Since we’ll want the early train tomorrow.”

Edward nodded. Thomas still had trouble reading Edward, even after all this time, but he tried his damnedest. Edward didn’t look angry or even particularly sad, just tired, from the little Thomas could tell.

“I agree,” Edward said at last. “I don’t want to be here long, either, you know. I don’t want to meet anyone who might know me.”

He’d lost the indifference he had clung to earlier in the day. Thomas bit his lip. He was growing tired of this back and forth, Edward’s indecisiveness – well, perhaps _both_ their indecisiveness – yet he knew it was up to him to keep Edward from despairing or leaving Thomas behind to go home. Either of those outcomes would be disastrous. He just couldn’t lose Edward.

“I don’t think we will,” Thomas said. He hesitated and struggled to breathe through the tightness in his chest. “We’ll only be at the station and then on the train, and we’ll go right away. I’ll watch out for us both.” He wondered whether he should add _this time_ , and whether the words would upset Edward. “You know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me.”

To his surprise Edward stifled a chuckle before covering his face with his slim, strong hand.

“You don’t need to keep thanking me,” he said. “I know you’ve done a lot for me, as well.” He rubbed at his jaw, slowly, before going on. Thomas relaxed to hear the tenderness in Edward’s voice. “I remember you saying you’d take the blame if anyone ever did catch us, and of course I couldn’t really let you do that, after what Mother said.”

His face fell then. Thomas wanted to run to him.

“Well, I _am_ grateful–”

“I know,” Edward said. “But I must write to Mother. Promise me you’ll write whatever I say, at the first chance we get.”

A pang of jealousy flared in Thomas. He fought to quell it, and took a deep, slow breath.

“Of course,” he promised. He got up, drained the tap, and pulled on his pajamas and dressing gown, glad he had thought to bring them.

“Let’s head back to the room,” he said.

Edward gave another nod and stood up, gripping his cane.

“It’s just to the right,” Thomas added.

Edward winced. “I _know_ –”

“Sorry…”

Edward relented. He shrugged and reached for Thomas’s hand to give it a brief squeeze. Then they tramped down the narrow corridor back to their rooms together. It was a relief to get inside and lock the door, though the hallway had been quiet enough.

Thomas gripped Edward’s hand again.

“Goodnight, I suppose,” he said. He would have retired to the little closet-like room meant for a gentleman’s valet, but Edward held him fast and shook his head.

“You needn’t sleep alone,” Edward murmured. He leaned his head forward and kissed Thomas’s cheek, a little shyly. Thomas grinned. The touch of Edward’s lips warmed him, despite the dampness of both their skin and the chill of the room. He wrapped his arms around Edward’s chest so that they stood just in front of the locked door, locked together in their embrace.

“I suppose that – if I’m going to lose everything I had left because I’ve gone to bed with you, I should at least enjoy that.”

Edward said it simply. It made Thomas sigh all the same; he patted Edward’s hand, wishing he could do more to help him – to _make_ the world safe for their love. Yet Edward had sounded brave and resolved when he spoke. Thomas liked to hear him sound like that.

He felt Edward turn his head more than he saw it. Then Edward was nuzzling against Thomas's cheek and caressing him with his hands before brushing his fingers downward and parting Thomas`s dressing gown.


End file.
